hope light of some sort is to be thrown upon the enterprise,” said Mrs.
Lamb, with anxiety, for in those days kerosene and camphene were not,
and gas unknown in the wilderness.
“We shall go without till we have discovered some vegetable oil or wax
to serve us,” replied Brother Timon, in a decided tone, which caused
Sister Hope to resolve that her private lamp should be always trimmed,
if not burning.
“Each member is to perform the work for which experience, strength, and
taste best fit him,” continued Dictator Lion. “Thus drudgery and
disorder will be avoided and harmony prevail. We shall rise at dawn,
begin the day by bathing, followed by music, and then a chaste repast of
fruit and bread. Each one finds congenial occupation till the meridian
meal; when some deep-searching conversation gives rest to the body and
development to the mind. Healthful labor again engages us till the last
meal, when we assemble in social communion, prolonged till sunset, when
we retire to sweet repose, ready for the next day’s activity.”
“What part of the work do you incline to yourself?” asked Sister Hope,
with a humorous glimmer in her keen eyes.
“I shall wait till it is made clear to me. Being in preference to doing
is the great aim, and this comes to us rather by a resigned willingness
than a wilful activity, which is a check to all divine growth,”
responded Brother Timon.
“I thought so.” And Mrs. Lamb sighed audibly, for during the year he had
spent in her family Brother Timon had so faithfully carried out his idea
of “being, not doing,” that she had found his “divine growth” both an
expensive and unsatisfactory process.
Here her husband struck into the conversation, his face shining with the
light and joy of the splendid dreams and high ideals hovering before
him.
“In these steps of reform, we do not rely so much on scientific
reasoning or physiological skill as on the spirit’s dictates. The
greater part of man’s duty consists in leaving alone much that he now
does. Shall I stimulate with tea, coffee, or wine? No. Shall I consume
flesh? Not if I value health. Shall I subjugate cattle? Shall I claim
property in any created thing? Shall I trade? Shall I adopt a form of
religion? Shall I interest myself in politics? To how many of these
questions—could we ask them deeply enough and could they be heard as
having relation to our eternal welfare—would the response be ‘Abstain’?”
A mild snore seemed to echo the last word of Abel’s rhapsody, for
Brother Moses had succumbed to mundane slumber and sat nodding like a
massive ghost. Forest Absalom, the silent man, and John Pease, the
English member, now departed to the barn; and Mrs. Lamb led her flock to
a temporary fold, leaving the founders of the “Consociate Family” to
build castles in the air till the fire went out and the symposium ended
in smoke.
The furniture arrived next day, and was soon bestowed; for the principal
property of the community consisted in books. To this rare library was
devoted the best room in the house, and the few busts and pictures that
still survived many flittings were added to beautify the sanctuary, for
here the family was to meet for amusement, instruction, and worship.
Any housewife can imagine the emotions of Sister Hope, when she took
possession of a large, dilapidated kitchen, containing an old stove and
the peculiar stores out of which food was to be evolved for her little
family of eleven. Cakes of maple sugar, dried peas and beans, barley and
hominy, meal of all sorts, potatoes, and dried fruit. No milk, butter,
cheese, tea, or meat appeared. Even salt was considered a useless luxury
and spice entirely forbidden by these lovers of Spartan simplicity. A
ten years’ experience of vegetarian vagaries had been good training for
this new freak, and her sense of the ludicrous supported her through
many trying scenes.
Unleavened bread, porridge, and water for breakfast; bread, vegetables,
and water for dinner; bread, fruit, and water for supper was the bill of
fare ordained by the elders. No teapot profaned that sacred stove, no
gory steak cried aloud for vengeance from her chaste gridiron; and only
a brave woman’s taste, time, and temper were sacrificed on that domestic
altar.
The vexed question of light was settled by buying a quantity of bayberry
wax for candles; and, on discovering that no one knew how to make them,
pine knots were introduced, to be used when absolutely necessary. Being
summer, the evenings were not long, and the weary fraternity found it no
great hardship to retire with the birds. The inner light was sufficient
for most of them. But Mrs. Lamb rebelled. Evening was the only time she
had to herself, and while the tired feet rested the skilful hands mended
torn frocks and little stockings, or anxious heart forgot its burden in
a book.
So “mother’s lamp” burned steadily, while the philosophers built a new
heaven and earth by moonlight; and through all the metaphysical mists
and philanthropic pyrotechnics of that period Sister Hope played her own
little game of “throwing light,” and none but the moths were the worse
for it.
Such farming probably was never seen before since Adam delved. The band
of brothers began by spading garden and field; but a few days of it
lessened their ardor amazingly. Blistered hands and aching backs
suggested the expediency of permitting the use of cattle till the
workers were better fitted for noble toil by a summer of the new life.
Brother Moses brought a yoke of oxen from his farm,—at least, the
philosophers thought so till it was discovered that one of the animals
was a cow; and Moses confessed that he “must be let down easy, for he
couldn’t live on garden sarse entirely.”
Great was Dictator Lion’s indignation at this lapse from virtue. But
time pressed, the work must be done; so the meek cow was permitted to
wear the yoke and the recreant brother continued to enjoy forbidden
draughts in the barn, which dark proceeding caused the children to
regard him as one set apart for destruction.
The sowing was equally peculiar, for, owing to some mistake, the three
brethren, who devoted themselves to this graceful task, found when about
half through the job that each had been sowing a different sort of grain
in the same field; a mistake which caused much perplexity, as it could
not be remedied; but, after a long consultation and a good deal of
laughter, it was decided to say nothing and see what would come of it.
The garden was planted with a generous supply of useful roots and herbs;
but, as manure was not allowed to profane the virgin soil, few of these
vegetable treasures ever came up. Purslane reigned supreme, and the
disappointed planters ate it philosophically, deciding that Nature knew
what was best for them, and would generously supply their needs, if they
could only learn to digest her “sallets” and wild roots.
The orchard was laid out, a little grafting done, new trees and vines
set, regardless of the unfit season and entire ignorance of the
husbandmen, who honestly believed that in the autumn they would reap a
bounteous harvest.
Slowly things got into order, and rapidly rumors of the new experiment
went abroad, causing many strange spirits to flock thither, for in those
days communities were the fashion and transcendentalism raged wildly.
Some came to look on and laugh, some to be supported in poetic idleness,
a few to believe sincerely and work heartily. Each member was allowed to
mount his favorite hobby and ride it to his heart’s content. Very queer
were some of the riders, and very rampant some of the hobbies.
One youth, believing that language was of little consequence if the
spirit was only right, startled new-comers by blandly greeting them with
“Good-morning, damn you,” and other remarks of an equally mixed order. A
second irrepressible being held that all the emotions of the soul should
be freely expressed, and illustrated his theory by antics that would
have sent him to a lunatic asylum, if, as an unregenerate wag said, he
had not already been in one. When his spirit soared, he climbed trees
and shouted; when doubt assailed him, he lay upon the floor and groaned
lamentably. At joyful periods, he raced, leaped, and sang; when sad, he
wept aloud; and when a great thought burst upon him in the watches of
the night, he crowed like a jocund cockerel, to the great delight of the
children and the great annoyance of the elders. One musical brother
fiddled whenever so moved, sang sentimentally to the four little girls,
and put a music-box on the wall when he hoed corn.
Brother Pease ground away at his uncooked food, or browsed over the farm
on sorrel, mint, green fruit, and new vegetables. Occasionally he took
his walks abroad, airily attired in an unbleached cotton _poncho_, which
was the nearest approach to the primeval costume he was allowed to
indulge in. At midsummer he retired to the wilderness, to try his plan
where the woodchucks were without prejudices and huckleberry-bushes were
hospitably full. A sunstroke unfortunately spoilt his plan, and he
returned to semi-civilization a sadder and wiser man.
Forest Absalom preserved his Pythagorean silence, cultivated his fine
dark locks, and worked like a beaver, setting an excellent example of
brotherly love, justice, and fidelity by his upright life. He it was who
helped overworked Sister Hope with her heavy washes, kneaded the endless
succession of batches of bread, watched over the children, and did the
many tasks left undone by the brethren, who were so busy discussing and
defining great duties that they forgot to perform the small ones.
Moses White placidly plodded about, “chorin’ raound,” as he called it,
looking like an old-time patriarch, with his silver hair and flowing
beard, and saving the community from many a mishap by his thrift and
Yankee shrewdness.
Brother Lion domineered over the whole concern; for, having put the most
money into the speculation, he was resolved to make it pay,—as if
anything founded on an ideal basis could be expected to do so by any but
enthusiasts.
Abel Lamb simply revelled in the Newness, firmly believing that his
dream was to be beautifully realized and in time not only little
Fruitlands, but the whole earth, be turned into a Happy Valley. He
worked with every muscle of his body, for _he_ was in deadly earnest. He
taught with his whole head and heart; planned and sacrificed, preached
and prophesied, with a soul full of the purest aspirations, most
unselfish purposes, and desires for a life devoted to God and man, too
high and tender to bear the rough usage of this world.
It was a little remarkable that only one woman ever joined this
community. Mrs. Lamb merely followed wheresoever her husband led,—“as
ballast for his balloon,” as she said, in her bright way.
Miss Jane Gage was a stout lady of mature years, sentimental, amiable,
and lazy. She wrote verses copiously, and had vague yearnings and
graspings after the unknown, which led her to believe herself fitted for
a higher sphere than any she had yet adorned.
Having been a teacher, she was set to instructing the children in the
common branches. Each adult member took a turn at the infants; and, as
each taught in his own way, the result was a chronic state of chaos in
the minds of these much-afflicted innocents.
Sleep, food, and poetic musings were the desires of dear Jane’s life,
and she shirked all duties as clogs upon her spirit’s wings. Any thought
of lending a hand with the domestic drudgery never occurred to her; and
when to the question, “Are there any beasts of burden on the place?”
Mrs. Lamb answered, with a face that told its own tale, “Only one
woman!” the buxom Jane took no shame to herself, but laughed at the
joke, and let the stout-hearted sister tug on alone.
Unfortunately, the poor lady hankered after the flesh-pots, and
endeavored to stay herself with private sips of milk, crackers, and
cheese, and on one dire occasion she partook of fish at a neighbor’s
table.
One of the children reported this sad lapse from virtue, and poor Jane
was publicly reprimanded by Timon.
“I only took a little bit of the tail,” sobbed the penitent poetess.
“Yes, but the whole fish had to be tortured and slain that you might
tempt your carnal appetite with that one taste of the tail. Know ye not,
consumers of flesh meat, that ye are nourishing the wolf and tiger in
your bosoms?”
At this awful question and the peal of laughter which arose from some of
the younger brethren, tickled by the ludicrous contrast between the
stout sinner, the stern judge, and the naughty satisfaction of the young
detective, poor Jane fled from the room to pack her trunk and return to
a world where fishes’ tails were not forbidden fruit.
Transcendental wild oats were sown broadcast that year, and the fame
thereof has not yet ceased in the land; for, futile as this crop seemed
to outsiders, it bore an invisible harvest, worth much to those who
planted in earnest. As none of the members of this particular community
have ever recounted their experiences before, a few of them may not be
amiss, since the interest in these attempts has never died out and
Fruitlands was the most ideal of all these castles in Spain.
A new dress was invented, since cotton, silk, and wool were forbidden as
the product of slave-labor, worm-slaughter, and sheep-robbery. Tunics
and trowsers of brown linen were the only wear. The women’s skirts were
longer, and their straw hat-brims wider than the men’s, and this was the
only difference. Some persecution lent a charm to the costume, and the
long-haired, linen-clad reformers quite enjoyed the mild martyrdom they
endured when they left home.
Money was abjured, as the root of all evil. The produce of the land was
to supply most of their wants, or be exchanged for the few things they
could not grow. This idea had its inconveniences; but self-denial was
the fashion, and it was surprising how many things one can do without.
When they desired to travel, they walked, if possible, begged the loan
of a vehicle, or boldly entered car or coach, and, stating their
principles to the officials, took the consequences. Usually their dress,
their earnest frankness, and gentle resolution won them a passage; but
now and then they met with hard usage, and had the satisfaction of
suffering for their principles.
On one of these penniless pilgrimages they took passage on a boat, and,
when fare was demanded, artlessly offered to talk, instead of pay. As
the boat was well under way and they actually had not a cent, there was
no help for it. So Brothers Lion and Lamb held forth to the assembled
passengers in their most eloquent style. There must have been something
effective in this conversation, for the listeners were moved to take up
a contribution for these inspired lunatics, who preached peace on earth
and good-will to man so earnestly, with empty pockets. A goodly sum was
collected; but when the captain presented it the reformers proved that
they were consistent even in their madness, for not a penny would they
accept, saying, with a look at the group about them, whose indifference
or contempt had changed to interest and respect, “You see how well we
get on without money”; and so went serenely on their way, with their
linen blouses flapping airily in the cold October wind.
They preached vegetarianism everywhere and resisted all temptations of
the flesh, contentedly eating apples and bread at well-spread tables,
and much afflicting hospitable hostesses by denouncing their food and
taking away their appetites, discussing the “horrors of shambles,” the
“incorporation of the brute in man,” and “on elegant abstinence the sign
of a pure soul.” But, when the perplexed or offended ladies asked what
they should eat, they got in reply a bill of fare consisting of “bowls
of sunrise for breakfast,” “solar seeds of the sphere,” “dishes from
Plutarch’s chaste table,” and other viands equally hard to find in any
modern market.
Reform conventions of all sorts were haunted by these brethren, who said
many wise things and did many foolish ones. Unfortunately, these
wanderings interfered with their harvest at home; but the rule was to do
what the spirit moved, so they left their crops to Providence and went
a-reaping in wider and, let us hope, more fruitful fields than their
own.
Luckily, the earthly providence who watched over Abel Lamb was at hand
to glean the scanty crop yielded by the “uncorrupted land,” which,
“consecrated to human freedom,” had received “the sober culture of
devout men.”
About the time the grain was ready to house, some call of the Oversoul
wafted all the men away. An easterly storm was coming up and the yellow
stacks were sure to be ruined. Then Sister Hope gathered her forces.
Three little girls, one boy (Timon’s son), and herself, harnessed to
clothes-baskets and Russia-linen sheets, were the only teams she could
command; but with these poor appliances the indomitable woman got in the
grain and saved food for her young, with the instinct and energy of a
mother-bird with a brood of hungry nestlings to feed.
This attempt at regeneration had its tragic as well as comic side,
though the world only saw the former.
With the first frosts, the butterflies, who had sunned themselves in the
new light through the summer, took flight, leaving the few bees to see
what honey they had stored for winter use. Precious little appeared
beyond the satisfaction of a few months of holy living.
At first it seemed as if a chance to try holy dying also was to be
offered them. Timon, much disgusted with the failure of the scheme,
decided to retire to the Shakers, who seemed to be the only successful
community going.
“What is to become of us?” asked Mrs. Hope, for Abel was heart-broken at
the bursting of his lovely bubble.
“You can stay here, if you like, till a tenant is found. No more wood
must be cut, however, and no more corn ground. All I have must be sold
to pay the debts of the concern, as the responsibility rests with me,”
was the cheering reply.
“Who is to pay us for what we have lost? I gave all I had,—furniture,
time, strength, six months of my children’s lives,—and all are wasted.
Abel gave himself body and soul, and is almost wrecked by hard work and
disappointment. Are we to have no return for this, but leave to starve
and freeze in an old house, with winter at hand, no money, and hardly a
friend left; for this wild scheme has alienated nearly all we had. You
talk much about justice. Let us have a little, since there is nothing
else left.”
But the woman’s appeal met with no reply but the old one: “It was an
experiment. We all risked something, and must bear our losses as we
can.”
With this cold comfort, Timon departed with his son, and was absorbed
into the Shaker brotherhood, where he soon found that the order of
things was reversed, and it was all work and no play.
Then the tragedy began for the forsaken little family. Desolation and
despair fell upon Abel. As his wife said, his new beliefs had alienated
many friends. Some thought him mad, some unprincipled. Even the most
kindly thought him a visionary, whom it was useless to help till he took
more practical views of life. All stood aloof, saying: “Let him work out
his own ideas, and see what they are worth.”
He had tried, but it was a failure. The world was not ready for Utopia
yet, and those who attempted to found it only got laughed at for their
pains. In other days, men could sell all and give to the poor, lead
lives devoted to holiness and high thought, and, after the persecution
was over, find themselves honored as saints or martyrs. But in modern
times these things are out of fashion. To live for one’s principles, at
all costs, is a dangerous speculation; and the failure of an ideal, no
matter how humane and noble, is harder for the world to forgive and
forget than bank robbery or the grand swindles of corrupt politicians.
Deep waters now for Abel, and for a time there seemed no passage
through. Strength and spirits were exhausted by hard work and too much
thought. Courage failed when, looking about for help, he saw no
sympathizing face, no hand outstretched to help him, no voice to say
cheerily,
“We all make mistakes, and it takes many experiences to shape a life.
Try again, and let us help you.”
Every door was closed, every eye averted, every heart cold, and no way
open whereby he might earn bread for his children. His principles would
not permit him to do many things that others did; and in the few fields
where conscience would allow him to work, who would employ a man who had
flown in the face of society, as he had done?
Then this dreamer, whose dream was the life of his life, resolved to
carry out his idea to the bitter end. There seemed no place for him
here,—no work, no friend. To go begging conditions was as ignoble as to
go begging money. Better perish of want than sell one’s soul for the
sustenance of his body. Silently he lay down upon his bed, turned his
face to the wall, and waited with pathetic patience for death to cut the
knot which he could not untie. Days and nights went by, and neither food
nor water passed his lips. Soul and body were dumbly struggling
together, and no word of complaint betrayed what either suffered.
His wife, when tears and prayers were unavailing, sat down to wait the
end with a mysterious awe and submission; for in this entire resignation
of all things there was an eloquent significance to her who knew him as
no other human being did.
“Leave all to God,” was his belief; and in this crisis the loving soul
clung to this faith, sure that the Allwise Father would not desert this
child who tried to live so near to Him. Gathering her children about
her, she waited the issue of the tragedy that was being enacted in that
solitary room, while the first snow fell outside, untrodden by the
footprints of a single friend.
But the strong angels who sustain and teach perplexed and troubled souls
came and went, leaving no trace without, but working miracles within.
For, when all other sentiments had faded into dimness, all other hopes
died utterly; when the bitterness of death was nearly over, when body
was past any pang of hunger or thirst, and soul stood ready to depart,
the love that outlives all else refused to die. Head had bowed to
defeat, hand had grown weary with too heavy tasks, but heart could not
grow cold to those who lived in its tender depths, even when death
touched it.
“My faithful wife, my little girls,—they have not forsaken me, they are
mine by ties that none can break. What right have I to leave them alone?
What right to escape from the burden and the sorrow I have helped to
bring? This duty remains to me, and I must do it manfully. For their
sakes, the world will forgive me in time; for their sakes, God will
sustain me now.”
Too feeble to rise, Abel groped for the food that always lay within his
reach, and in the darkness and solitude of that memorable night ate and
drank what was to him the bread and wine of a new communion, a new
dedication of heart and life to the duties that were left him when the
dreams fled.
In the early dawn, when that sad wife crept fearfully to see what change
had come to the patient face on the pillow, she found it smiling at her,
saw a wasted hand outstretched to her, and heard a feeble voice cry
bravely, “Hope!”
What passed in that little room is not to be recorded except in the
hearts of those who suffered and endured much for love’s sake. Enough
for us to know that soon the wan shadow of a man came forth, leaning on
the arm that never failed him, to be welcomed and cherished by the
children, who never forgot the experiences of that time.
“Hope” was the watchword now; and, while the last logs blazed on the
hearth, the last bread and apples covered the table, the new commander,
with recovered courage, said to her husband,—
“Leave all to God—and me. He has done his part, now I will do mine.”
“But we have no money, dear.”
“Yes, we have. I sold all we could spare, and have enough to take us
away from this snowbank.”
“Where can we go?”
“I have engaged four rooms at our good neighbor, Lovejoy’s. There we can
live cheaply till spring. Then for new plans and a home of our own,
please God.”
[Illustration:
ORCHARD HOUSE AT CONCORD, MASSACHUSETTS
The Alcott home of later years
]
“But, Hope, your little store won’t last long, and we have no friends.”